Of Seagulls and Laments
by veinte
Summary: In which Percy isn't the brightest kid on the block and Annabeth is a bit too close to omniscience for anyone's liking. [Warnings: Off-Screen Death, Verbal Violence, Toxic Habits, etc. (more will be added later)]


**Author's Note:** If you have not seen the warnings in the summary, there is an off-screen death, verbal violence, and toxic habits. Please note that the list will most likely increase as the story progress.

In addition, I am currently searching for a beta reader. If you are interested, please send me a PM (private message) or contact me through various other media (look at profile).

I would also like to apologize in advance if there are any grammatical errors. I had started this approximately around 3 A.M and since then almost two hours had passed. I attempted to revise this to the best of my abilities at this moment.

Thank you and I hope that you will enjoy the prologue.

~ _Ellie_

* * *

><p><strong><span>PROLOGUE <span>**

**W**hen they discovered Percy's stationary corpse lying on the beach, there was a blank between her heartbeats- a momentary pause, a warning before it fastens its pace and palpitations began arise to the afternoon sun. Her hands were dusted snow from chalk (holding far too many similarities to Percy's pallid complexion, but she will never admit it because that's another sign of his death and he's not _dead_; no, he _can't_ be dead.). The Crayola brand chalk _(Percy had brought them for her birthday because he remember how much she loves chalkboards and their antiquity, except now whenever she sees one, all she will remember is lurid red against the hallowed cheekbones of her deceased lover)_ fell from Annabeth's grasp and on to the ground, impact softened by layers of crinkled newspapers and carpet.

She had long since known of Percy's absence, but the blond always had these seemingly-infinite assumptions that he was out and about adventuring or conducting another one of his silly antics. Apparently, so did everyone else.

_(Annabeth recalls one of their dates, where Percy had attended to thirty minutes later than scheduled due to multiple contributing factors of time management skills and the 'enticing' shoreline. They spent the rest of the night imbibing cheap, five-dollar wine and fall asleep to the humming of distant seagulls.)_

Her footing was unstable; she felt as if the world was about to swallow her into it dominating, perpetual void, and at this point, Annabeth would have wholeheartedly welcomed it. Let its tongue flew and curl around her ankle, imprisoning her to a fate of inevitable demise. Her universe was deteriorating into crumbling pillars because when was she ever not the one in control. Annabeth had everything figured out: every ploy, every pattern, everything, and yet the girl still remains unable to save the one that she loves the most, the foci of her love.

She once thought the universe can be procured through masses of wisdom and sagacity; however, the truth is a harsh reality brought upon her by the local new station and the pixelated image of more than just her lover, but her future as well.

* * *

><p><strong>T<strong>he funeral was set on the week of their anniversary. The sun shone bright, coruscating from Percy's casket and reflected onto the dull hues of Annabeth's eyes. Everything was alive except for Percy himself. She despised it.

Ms. Jackson had opted for a closed casket, the sight of her beloved son about to be buried six-feet under was too overwhelming for her and Annabeth has to agree. Though no external damage has been done of the body, the autopsy reported the cause of death was through suffocation and by estimating the high concentrations of salt in his lungs, they suspect he had drowned. She immediately knew it was false, after all, a son of Poseidon can never be asphyxiated by his own element. Even if that was the case, she can't write a counter-statement, they would trash it instantaneously after seeing the word 'demigod.' It had taken two weeks to process this and sent his body to the funeral home in a large, black plastic bin (they call it a 'biodegradable coffin').

Annabeth visited him once to say her goodbyes, to reconcile and bid farewell. She viewed him with little to no recognition. They dressed him in a black pinstriped suit and combed his hair to neat perfect strands of ebony. His figure was too stiff and awkward, a pose which was meant to be natural and peaceful only made him more unnerving. She could already feel the bile rising. They closed his eyes, thick brown eyelashes overlapping his sickly skin in crisscrossing shadows. With delicate fingers, the blond reached over to open them, but stopped midair when realizing all there will be at the end is two muted greens incomprehensible to its past vibrancy. It wasn't worth the trouble and tears.

In the end, she left without a word.

The funeral began; a selected assortment of mellow classical music played in the background, ideal and precise notes. Into the first ten seconds of the intro and she knew they were children of Apollo. After the song was finished, the 'priest' spoke of religious enchantments and morale for Percy's 'next' journey, blessing his soul in ambrosia and holy elixirs. He then commenced a series of personal speeches, selecting people from the audience. Time ensued in a stagnant, steady pace and it was Annabeth's turn.

Her lips moved and the world was silent. She was deaf to all, body vacant and heart numb.

When it had concluded, Annabeth stayed there for a few more minutes, listening to the pellucid chirps of canaries and Sally's choked sobs. She didn't comfort her, just stood there, too young to be clad in black, and holding a packet of Kleenex's tissues.

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>nnabeth arrives home near the set of the sun, daylight marred with streaks of red and oranges. Her limbs were sore from hours of traipsing across brick-lined promenades in search for the limo and discovered in the end that she was a hour too late for the return. She tracked a taxi, lethargy restraining her from taking public transportation.

Their- no - Her home felt too empty and cold without the presence of snickering and the comforting scent of the sea. It was as if she was naked, shoved bare in front of the public for their own entertainment and pleasure. She hasn't even attempted to clear Percy's items and piled his clothes into an overlapping mount on her bed. She tells herself the purpose of its location is for organization, though Annabeth drowns herself into the layers of ragged t-shirts and dreams hushed murmurs of 'wise girl' in deep, smooth octaves.

There was a voice mail on the home phone, but she chose to ignore it in favor of coffee. A _ring_ and the secure _click_ of the coffee machine indicates the brewing process has begun and the steaming drink will be finished within twenty-to-thirty minutes.

_(On the way to her study, Annabeth passes a framed photo of Percy and her together, back when they were thirteen and the world was filled with infinite possibilities. Frail, quivering motions picks it up and smashes it on the ground, shattered glass breaking the surface of her skin and reflecting her tears. With shallow breaths, Wise Girl collapses onto the carpet, knees bruised and now sustaining numerous cuts. She doesn't care; Percy is gone and she can't do a single damn thing about it. )_


End file.
